


Long Before the Call

by EireneShulah



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Aunt Beru saves the day, Gen, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:15:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EireneShulah/pseuds/EireneShulah
Summary: Why was Luke named Luke Skywalker, not Luke Lars or something?Was it sheer stupidity?Or was it something else?
Kudos: 12





	Long Before the Call

"Skywalker", she said.

Both men turned to her, startled. She was silent throughout the conversation, sitting in her corner sewing some old socks. Obi-Wan had almost forgotten she was here; apparently so did Owen.

"What?", he asked.

"We should register the boy as Luke Skywalker. And if they come, I'll tell he's a son of Anakin", she said, tilting her head to the side, like a bird.

"You propose we tell them the truth?", Owen blinked. Beru was certainly smarter than that.

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon smile knowingly. Did he really understand Beru's plan? Did he just wear this knowing smile like he did all his life, pretending to be an expert on everything? On the other hand, now that master was a Force Ghost, he may've truly become that expert...

"Not the truth, and not we", she giggled like a little girl. "Don't you know, darling: it's not what is said matters, it's who said it."

Qui-Gon nodded, still silent. Was it Obi-Wan's spiritual deficiency that master never spoke to him? Or was it---

"You've lost me here, B", Owen said.

"Just watch, darling. It'll play like a game, I promise. You see, if we pretend he's our son...or invent a cover story for him, like in holo drama...someone could sense something's off and look into it. So what we need is, we need them to think they know all and see through...oh, it's so hard to word what I think", she frowned. "I'm not much of an explainer I guess, darling. Just believe in me, would you?"

"I will", he nodded. Whatever they were, the Larses were one loving family, Obi-Wan thought. And it was just what little Luke needed: a climate of love and mutual trust to grow up in, learning the basics of good and evil from people with a firm grasp on what it truly is. _Because the Jedi apparently had no such grasp and this proved to be their downfall,_ Qui-Gon agreed. That was the first time he actually spoke, but it felt so natural Obi-Wan wasn't even surprised. Or was it---

Anyway it was not two months later when the bucketheads came. One sick parody of clone troopers, they were. Cody and his blokes, Rex, all of them tried so hard, were ready to go so far to wring a tiniest bit of individuality for themselves. And those guys had it all prepackaged and given, but chose to forego their self for...what? _Some semi-decent money and a chance for power, however imaginary_ , he thought. Or was it master speaking to him? Frankly, there was little difference. Qui-Gon's words that used to be a constant discovery, constant surprise enlightenment back then--now they were of little difference with his own thoughts. Was it just growing up? Or was it---

This question he never truly dared to ask, and bucketheads were in the Lars homestead anyway so he went straight to the little table. It was agreed long ago if _they_ come while Obi-Wan was at Larses', he and Owen pretend playing pazaak and let Beru do the do.

"The boy you have", captain barked. He was a captain because he had a pauldron, a lone slip of color in his colorlessness.

"Oh, you mean little Luke?", Beru beamed to him as if he was a dearest guest. "Did he miss his vac day or what? I'll check..."

"You never registered as pregnant, mrs Lars", seems even for a brainless bucket it was hard being rude to such a nice lady. "Yet now you have a child. Care to explain?"

And here it comes. The double or nothing moment they all lived in fear waiting for. Owen checked his hand and Obi-Wan let out a winning smile. 

"Of course, sir officer!" she beamed again. "You see, he's Anakin's son. Shmi's Anakin's, it's Owen's older brother. Half-brother", she was drivelling. Was it all an act? Was it real fear? _A bit of both, and a touch of sweet feminine derpyness_ , Qui-Gon explained. Or he explained to himself?

"Just sir or officer would be pretty enough, m'am", captain let out a laugh. "So you say, the boy's your nephew? And his real parents, why don't they care for him?"

"You see, Anakin, Shmi's Anakin, as I've said, he went on to become a big general in this war. But he died several months ago and now we are to care for his little one. Poor guy was such a big thing out there, yet no one close enough except for my Owen and me, isn't it strange? We met him, once. Such a nice guy he was, and with a pretty girlfriend, too"

Now Obi-Wan got it at last, and gently squeezed Owen's hand: _don't do anything stupid, let her go on._ The truth she told was easy to check up; things like that were worse denied, than accepted. This bucket, or his superior--they'd look it up in the archives and see that Owen is really Shmi's son, as well as Anakin who is a registered Jedi. Connect the dots, get a picture...and then get it all wrong.

No sensible being would believe Anakin Skywalker-- _the_ Anakin Skywalker--not only had a secret child, but entrusted it to some backwater (backsand, rather) bumpkins instead of a person from his own circle. But any sensible being would believe a not so wealthy farmer family could try a little scam and pass their own offspring for a son of fallen war hero, hoping to get some nice money as a pension.

"They summoned me, y'know, and told poor Annie was dead. Shmi, she called him 'Annie', always. First she, and now he's dead too, not two years later. Strange times to live in, officer, strange times. Wanna some milk?" Bery continued chattering.

Qui-Gon was smiling knowingly.

If he was there. If he was not Obi-Wan's own mind, playing tricks on him.


End file.
